


The Abandoned Manor

by Sayraa



Series: The Abandoned Manor [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Abandoned Manor, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fingering, First Person Perspective, House Hunting, Masturbation, Mind Games, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sayraa/pseuds/Sayraa
Summary: First Person Perspective of Hermione.I enjoy investigating older buildings, buildings thought by muggles to be haunted or abandoned for centuries.  They intrigue me, as they should; they hold many stories yet to be told.  It’s how I found myself in front of an old  Victorian house from the 1870’s.  It drew me in like a moth to a flame.  As a child one often hears stories about long-standing abandoned houses and things that lurk in the shadows.  But what if these houses weren’t so abandoned after all?*Explicit Sexual Content*





	1. The Manor of 1870

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,  
> This is my first time writing for a fandom. I wrote this earlier this year in first person without a magical aspect. It was posted to my blog. As I started reading fanfics about Harry Potter it made me think of this writing and how it could be applied to an older slightly more adventurous Hermione. That being said for this writing Hermione is about 24, post-war and single.
> 
> If you do not enjoy explicit sexual content then this writing will not be for you!
> 
> Please note that I do not own these characters nor do I profit from this work.

I enjoy investigating older buildings, buildings thought by muggles to be haunted or abandoned for centuries. They intrigue me, as they should; they hold many stories yet to be told. It’s how I found myself in front of an old ten-bedroom Victorian house from the 1870’s. It wasn’t old by wizard standards but it stood tall and proud in its yellow exterior and evergreen trimmings. It was oddly picturesque and not in the “Old Haunted Mansion” sort of way. It drew me in like a moth to a flame.

Let’s face it, it was a mixture of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw inside me that drew me in. How could one stay away from such a sight with its three stories and hand carved wooden designs? I was certainly not about to pass up to opportunity to explore. There had been stories of apparitions, talking, rapping on doors, and the like by muggles. It was just the sort of thing to pique my interest. 

As a child one often hears stories about long-standing abandoned houses and things that lurk in the shadows. We shiver at the thought of these obscene monsters and practically run past these houses, often avoiding them entirely. Sometimes there are teenagers who are looking for thrills that venture onto the property; others are dared to enter to prove their bravery. But what if these houses weren’t so abandoned after all? The thought had crossed my mind often enough and yet I still chose to explore the house, who doesn’t like a challenge?

I walked up to the timeworn manor before me. My hands caressed the wood as I scouted the perimeter of the house. Each of the windows were covered with drapes, hiding in the interior of the house from view. It wouldn’t have been hard to jimmy the window open and climb through but I decided it would be easier to simply try a door rather than risk damage to the decaying sills.

Standing before the door I retrieved my wand. “Alohamora,” I whispered with a quick flick of my wrist. I had since mastered the art of wandless magic but felt more secure with the aged wood grasped tightly within the palm of my hand. I reached out gripping the rusted handle of the front door. Generally doors were rather hesitant to open on the first try but the door opened without any resistance, giving me a slight shock at the simplicity of it. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one to have explored this beauty over the years.

I let the door swing open as I pocketed my wand. The interior was a magnificent sight; the foyer led directly to the grand staircase before me, taking my breath away. My feet carried me inside; my black heals clicking softly against the aged wood beneath me. The door took no time in closing behind me, causing me to jump ever so slightly. My head snapped back towards the closed door behind me. A soft laugh escaped my throat, I was being silly, it was likely just the wind pulling it shut when I no longer obstructed it from doing so. I couldn’t feel anything magical within the house, which wasn’t to say that there wasn’t any, it was just not as likely to be so.

“It could even be a tilt in the house causing it to slam,” I reassured myself, knowing full well that no one was around to hear me. The rush of adrenaline that this house caused me was enormous. Yes, it was fear, but it was also excitement that made my heart pound with anticipation of what was to come.

I tried to calm my excitement as I found the first bedroom. The royal red drapes hid the window from view. I found myself pulling on the drapery, allowing moonlight to cascade in through the window. I could feel goosebumps on my arms as the thought of being caught made my blood rush. I couldn’t help but bring my hand up to my breast. A sigh escaped me as I grasped my flesh through my white blouse. Closing my eyes as I began to fondle myself, enjoying the sensation of an unknown surrounding mixed with the unlikely possibility of being caught.

My free hand found the zipper of my pencil skirt. It wasn’t the most practical of outfits for house hunting, but it pleased me in a way that a wizard’s robe couldn’t quite. The sound of each tooth coming apart could be heard in the room and with a slight shimmy it fell to the floor. I slid my hand down to my sex, cupping it gently, giving it just a little stimulation before sliding into my silken knickers. My core was wet and ready, my finger delving into my pussy before spreading my juices around my engorged clit. My breath caught in my throat at the first touch of my fingers against my clit. It had been much too long since I had last touched myself – I missed the sensation, how my pussy contracts at even the slightest touch.

The hand at my breast moved under my shirt to unclasp my bra. With a slight hitch the bra is unhooked, releasing my breast from their manacles. I practically groan in relief. I remove my hand from my clit to slowly unbutton my blouse, dropping it to the floor by my skirt. The bra too, is flung into the pile of clothes but I elect to keep my knickers. Something about wet knickers makes this whole situation real, a reminder of the fun I’ve had for my trip home later.

I stand before the exposed window, enjoying the reflection of myself in the moonlit glass. Who doesn’t enjoy the look of puckered rosy nipples, flushed pink cheeks and wet knickers on a curved waist? The look brings my hands back to my body in a heated caress. My hand finds my left nipple, rolling it roughly between my thumb in my forefinger. I moan softly, arching my back and pushing my breast into my hand. My other hand returns to my core, my index finger gliding across the entrance of my slick womanhood. I’m watching myself in the window, watching my dainty hands molest my body in a house that I know is not my own.

I smile, bringing my hand to my right nipple to expose it to much the same treatment. My finger delved deep into my pussy, bringing up a guttural moan from my lips. I contract around my fingers as they continue to pump into me. The hand that once caressed my breast slid down to my clit, bringing some much-needed attention to the throbbing bulb between my thighs. I can feel the pressure building, the heat spreading through my body as I pressed myself against the cool glass panes of the window. Part of me hopes that someone will see me cum beneath the touch of my own hands and the other part of me is glad that this house is abandoned – but it’s always this way. The idea of getting caught is what makes it so appealing.

I whimper as my fingers form a hook, pressing against that most intimate spot within me. My fingers furiously rub my clit, throwing my head back as I press into the window for support. I moan with abandon as I climax around my fingers, my juices soaking my hand and knickers. Breathing deep I rest my head against the window, enjoying the waves of my climax as I pulse around my fingers. The best orgasms are the ones in houses like these. Abandoned but not quite forgotten.

I take my time to catch my breath before I slide my hands out from my knickers. I’ve soaked through them, my juices beginning to coat my thighs. I smile; it will be a good ride home. I sauntered towards my clothing, always taking my time in putting them back on. The cool night air nipped on my goosepimpled flesh as I took care with each button that fastened and each tooth of the zipper that clipped into place. It wasn’t like there was anyone to hide from after all.

Now that I had pleasured myself and my clothing returned I could focus on the real reason I came out here, the house. I took in the large room, the large mahogany four poster canopy bed. Much like the drapes it was covered in a magnificent deep royal red. I ran my hand across the duvet, my hand coming clean as my brow furrowed. It was then that I realized what I should have noticed before. This house was spotless, and no abandoned house was ever this clean.

I had been so preoccupied with my own pleasure that I hadn’t even thought of how immaculate the interior of the house was; not a dust particle in sight. Arms wound their way around my waist as another covered my torso. Strong hands gripped my hip and opposing arm, keeping it away from the pocket which held my wand.

“I see you’ve enjoyed my house,” the deep masculine voice breathed in my ear, raising the hairs on my neck and causing my body to go rigid in his strong embrace.


	2. Games of Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve been mulling over the options we have here. I could turn you over to the ministry for trespassing and indecency, but where would the fun be in that,” a sadistic breathy laugh escaped the male breaking through my thoughts. “It might be more fun to make a game of this Ms. Granger.” The disembodied voice paused. How in the world did you make a game out of being a captive? Anger brought heat to my cheeks as I bit back a retort. “If you can guess who I am I will let you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> As previous readers will know this is my first time writing a fanfic. I have rather a dark mind that seeks out the pain and suffering of characters in stories. This is not without reason. I find that when people, or in this case characters, go through traumatic experiences they may be able to grow from them. This is not always the case but for the sake of this story, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” can certainly be applied. With that in mind, if you do not enjoy explicit sexual content, then this writing will not be for you. 
> 
> Please note that I do not own these characters nor do I profit from this work.

“Stupify,” the word rang through my head, disorienting me entirely. I should have known better than to let my guard down. Despite the fact that the war was over the muggle-borns, like myself, weren’t entirely safe. There had been a rise in attacks against muggle-borns recently and, as an Auror, Harry had warned me to take care. I hated to admit that my ego had gotten the best of me; as one of the so called “Golden Trio” I thought I was safe. I hadn’t had a problem since the war and I had become content in my defences.  
“I never thought it would be this easy,” the deep baritone voice rang through my head before the world around me seemed to disappear entirely. There were occasional chances that if you put too much magic into the spell that the stun could knock a person unconscious. It seemed that this was the case. I could no longer feel the pressure of his arms around me or the heat of his breath against my neck.

It was darkness that greeted me like an old friend, encompassing all my senses. It gave me time to think. I knew that velvety adenoidal voice from somewhere. I had heard it often enough that I should have been able to put a name to the voice. I groaned softly as pain seemed to blossom through the base of my skull, reminding me that I might very well be in trouble.

“It’s nice of you to join me, Ms. Granger,” there it was again. That shock of familiarity. Clearly, he knew me. I attempted to move from my position. Some time during my unconscious state I had been moved onto what felt like the bed. My arms were bound behind my back, forearm over forearm with the softest of rope. He’d likely used the incarcerous charm, unless he was a particularly good rigger it was likely done through magic. I’d heard of people rigging with magic on the kink scene of London but had never bothered to look much into it. It didn’t seem important at the time.

“I’ve been mulling over the options we have here. I could turn you over to the ministry for trespassing and indecency, but where would the fun be in that,” a sadistic breathy laugh escaped the male breaking through my thoughts. It’s easy to get lost in your thoughts when you’re blindfolded and bound. Had I ever heard that laugh before? I couldn’t recall ever hearing it, but I didn’t get long to focus on it. 

“It might be more fun to make a game of this Ms. Granger.” The disembodied voice paused. How in the world did you make a game out of being a captive? Anger brought heat to my cheeks as I bit back a retort. Having a saucy mouth wouldn’t do me any good in this situation. “If you can guess who I am I will let you go.” 

“That’s it?” I just had to guess his name, that couldn’t be too hard.

“No. For each wrong answer I’m going to,” he paused, thinking on it. I could feel the heat from the palm of his hand before it caressed my arm. “Remove an article of clothing. If you fail before I remove the last article of clothing, then for the next twenty-four hours you will belong to me to do with as I please.” I could hear the smile on his face. “I doubt you’ll be able to guess though, a pity really,” he goaded me on.

“You doubt my intelligence?” I scoffed. I knew he was baiting me but I couldn’t help myself. I knew I could do this. I knew this person, this voice.   
“I thought you enjoyed a challenge,” he retorted with a laugh. “So, Ms. Granger, do you consent? Can you guess my name?”

“Yes,” I blurted out. There was no way I couldn’t guess his name, it was on the tip of my tongue, the edge of my memory. I closed my eyes and focused on the disembodied voice, searching my consciousness for the name. It was a death eater, that much I knew for certain. “Lucius,” I said impulsively. No, that wasn’t quite right. Lucius has a lighter, less raspy voice than this one. This one was dark and commanding but not in a self-righteous king of the world sort of way as Malfoy held himself with.

“Wrong, but then you knew that,” the disembodied voice growled. A gust of cold air rushed against my legs. I felt the need to cover up but found myself incapable of doing so. My legs flailed about as I shifted. “What, you didn’t think I’d just start at your muggle-blazer and move forward from that?”

“Of course not,” a frustrated grumble escaping my lips. 

Again, that boisterous and unfamiliar laugh filled the room. I was certain I had never heard this laugh before. I took a moment to myself to think. Which death eaters had survived the war? And of them who had I ever been around enough to hear them speak?

“Fenrir?” I stated with a hesitant raise to my voice. I was certain he was dead and wouldn’t have given me the time of day beyond torture and death. It was a throwaway guess, but I could afford at least three wrong answers. Four was cutting it close and five would lose the challenge.

“You know very well that the wolf is dead,” the voice said in disgust. Clearly, he didn’t care for the deceased either. I felt warmth against my core, his fingers trailing towards the edge of my knickers before slowly removing them as if he were dealing with a particularly delicate ingredient to a potion. Potion…

I knew who this was. I jumped slightly as the realization of who this man was. I almost blurted the name out unconsciously. Snape. No, he was dead. I had watched him die in the Shrieking Shack after a particularly nasty encounter with Nagini. I took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm my racing heart. Part of me was overjoyed to know he was alive but another part of me was infuriated by the fact that he had remained hidden for so long after his demise and gave no indication to being alive.

“Ms. Granger. I await your next guess,” he spoke. His warm breath drifted over my labia, causing me to moan. How long had it been since I had been with someone? No, that wasn’t what was supposed to happen. My cheeks burned red with embarrassment at my knee jerk reaction to his breath alone. 

Was he intentionally unnerving me? Did he intend for me to guess who he really was? Or did he want to enjoy my company for the next twenty-four hours? “Knott,” I blurted out the first death eater name to pop into my head, buying me time to contemplate my next move. 

Did I want to be possessed by this man? Vivid images of our limbs entwined, covered in sweat with moans of pure pleasure permeating the room popped into my mind. My cheeks burned brighter. It only occurred to me now that Snape had vanished my blazer away. Two more guesses and I would essentially belong to him. The thought alone was titillating enough.

“Now you know Knott and I sound nothing alike. Perhaps I was wrong about the.”

“Goyle,” I yelled out, interrupting his speech. If he called me an insufferable know-it-all there would be no need to guess. He would all but give me the answer without allowing me to decide if I wanted him to possess me.

“Grasping at strings,” he all but sneered as he ripped open the soft fabric of my blouse. I could hear buttons clattering across the aged floors. It made my heart race fast, my breath coming that much quicker. This was my last guess. I could win the game and feel the satisfaction of knowing he couldn’t best me and my pride or I could throw caution to the wind and intentionally lose. I groaned at the difficult decision before me.

I didn’t like to admit it but when I wasn’t tasked with keeping Harry and Ron out of trouble and keeping up with my grades I had allowed my hormones to rule my imagination. I can remember one particular daydream that had caught me off guard. I had been in Snape’s Potions classroom in my sixth year writing an in-class exam. It hadn’t been particularly hard as it was on the construction, effects, and solutions to Amortentia (better known as a love potion). I had finished long before anyone else despite my extended explanations of said materials and found myself watching Snape at his desk. 

Snape was reading through parchment of what I assume was a particularly unimpressive essay written by an younger student. His calloused index finger drawing circles on the desk as the near permanent frown on his paled face turned into a rather nasty sneer. It was his hand that drew me in, the way it seemed to caress the wood beneath it. How would it feel to have that hardened hand across her body. The thought made me jump out of my seat and practically run to the front of the class to hand over my essay. It startled me as much as the fact that my knickers had been dampened in arousal but not nearly as much as the impulse to want to hand those drenched knickers over to said professor. I nearly ran out of the classroom after that, finding any way in which to dismiss the thoughts roiling around in my head. That was the first but not the last time I thought of those time-worn hands.

“…different,” the sound of Snape’s voice brought me back to the present.

“What?” I said. Had he been talking the entire time I went off into my memories? What in the world had he been saying? I couldn’t concentrate on anything but my building arousal; the slow building ache between my thighs. I could hear that laugh again but it seemed genuinely happy and not in the sadistic or demeaning way it had before. He was amused by my lack of attention, something that rarely ever happened. 

I wanted to hear more of this laugh and feel more of those calloused hands. “Zabini,” I said, surrendering myself to his game.

“Wrong again, but then you knew that Ms. Granger,” his breath touched my ear. I rubbed my thighs together in attempt to appease the ache. I felt the cold rush of air against my chest, my pert nipples raising erect against the onslaught. “Exquisite,” he breathed down my neck, trailing harsh bites down my neck towards my relieved breast that had me bucking up into the suction with a whimper. His breath hovered above my breast, teasing me to no ends.

“Severus,” I whimpered. The name spilling from my lips before I could stop it.

“You belong to me,” he growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you've enjoyed my writing. I'm not sure when I will be posting more but I would love to hear your comments and constructive criticism both of the first and the second chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you've enjoyed my writing. I'm not sure when I will be posting more but I would love to hear your comments and constructive criticism.


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